


Tumblr Drabbles and Requests

by thatviciousvixen



Category: Hannibal (TV), Jurassic World (2015), Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Catholic Barisi Adventures, Drabbles, M/M, Tumblr Fic, church fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:17:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/pseuds/thatviciousvixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tiny things I've written for various fandoms, including drabbles and requests or unfinished pieces.<br/>1. Barisi - Fluff - Teen // 2. Barisi - Angst - Teen // 3. Hannigram - Fluff - Teen // 4. Barisi - smut - explicit // 5. ChillyWilly - angst - general // 6. Barisi - hurt/comfort - teen // 7. ChillyWilly - hurt/comfort - general // 8. Barisi - angst - explicit // 9. Barisi - hurt/comfort - general // 10. Zachwen - omegeverse - mature</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confessionals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature
> 
> Based on one of those "one sentence fic starter" posts, I asked my girlfriend to pick a sentence for me to write a drabble around. Oh these boys.

“Are you – are you checking me out? In the line for the confessional?”

Rafael’s eyes snap up, cheeks coloring in half embarrassment and half indignation. He frowns at the knowing smirk on Sonny’s face, trying to think of some quick excuse to diffuse the situation. Nothing useful comes to mind.

“Are you honestly accusing me of checking you out in a church?” Rafael hisses, voice low and eyes flashing. He should have known coming to mass with the detective would have been a bad idea, but they have about two hours before they get the results they need on a DNA test and as it turns out they’re both pretty devout Catholics. He usually finds time to attend services each week, but he can’t imagine it’s easy for Sonny with his phone constantly on and a new case around every corner.

“Just pointing out the obvious, counselor,” Sonny drawls, raising an eyebrow. He looks sinfully good - he’s in a white button up and slate-gray vest, sleeves rolled up to his elbow and tie loose. His pants, as usual, fit way too well.

“You should maybe add that onto your confession, detective,” Rafael snaps back, folding his arms across his chest. He knows he should be thinking pious thoughts, should be meditating on his sins or thinking of the suffering of Christ or something, but all he can imagine is pushing the younger man into an empty confessional and getting on his knees for something that definitely isn’t prayer. “Imagine if Father Patrick knew about the mouth on you.”

Sonny laughs, light and good natured. “Is that supposed to scare me?” The person in front of them comes out of the confessional, quietly shutting the door behind him. Just before Sonny steps in he leans forward, smiling wide. “You don’t know the first thing about the mouth on me, counselor.”

With that he slips into the small booth, slipping the door shut behind him. Rafael can only stare, and wonder vaguely what his eternity in hell is going to be like.


	2. Unfinished Barisi Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen
> 
> I've picked at this story a lot and just can't get it where I want it. It feels overly melodramatic so I've decided to take a brake from it. I might come back at some point, we'll see.

The warehouse is damp. Barba can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere, and everything around him smells like rot and mold and decay. His head hurts. He can feel the metal pipe he’s handcuffed to, the burn and stretch in his arms as they twist behind him to where they’re connected. A dull ache at the base of his skull tells him where they hit him to put him under, the waves of pain radiating through his head and making him nauseous.

They told him he was being foolish going after mobsters. He was never the best as listening to sound advice.

He leans forward a bit, trying to get a read on his surroundings. The space he’s being held in is wide, cavernous; it looks like your typical base of shady operations that you’d see in a movie or comic book, where the bad guys meet in a place that accurately reflects the grossness of their hearts. No one has any creativity these days. Rusty pipes run all over the place from floor to ceiling, and high above his head a catwalk stretches from one end of the building to another. It hangs from jangling chains that promise the structure is not long of this world. The floor is filthy, litter and boxes strewn about everywhere. To his left is a chair, sitting in the middle of the open floor. To the right is…

“Detective Carisi?” he breathes, tongue feeling swollen and sluggish in his mouth.

The man is clearly still under, slumped to the side, body only supported by the pipe he’s been secured to. His arms stretch behind him awkwardly, head lolled forward as he dangles over the floor. He’s going to feel that in his shoulders when he comes to. A vivid bruise, mottled purple and green and black, is blossoming under his left eye. His hair has freed itself from its usual over-gelled prison, a lock breaking loose and falling over his forehead. 

“Detective Carisi,” Barba tries again, leaning forward.

They’d been working on a case, the two men waiting for Benson to show up so they could review some facts together. It had been dark outside of Barba’s office as they waited, the night somehow darker than the usual lights and life of Manhattan would allow. There had been some sort of fight in the alley. Shouting, sounds of fists on flesh, the usual city serenade...Carisi had gone to break it up despite Barba’s protests, and soon enough he’d begrudgingly followed. The men had stopped as soon as they’d approached...and then they seemed to multiply...and then everything went dark.

Bastards had set them up, jumped them once they got them out of sight.

“Carisi,” he hisses, squinting. “Wake up.”

Carisi lets out a soft moan, jerking slightly. 

“Come on detective,” Barba grates, leaning in to him. “Come on, come back to me.”

Carisi sways forward and to the side, still seeming to dangle from the pipe. He lets out another helpless sort of sound before his head tilts up a bit, squinting through the dim light of the warehouse. “Counselor?”

“There you are,” Barba sighs, leaning his head back to the pipe. “Are you alright?”

“My head is friggin’ pounding,” Carisi affirms, rolling his head slowly from side to side. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Barba sighs, giving the room another once over. “I haven’t heard anyone yet, no one’s come to check on us. Any chance you can get your hands free?” It feels like his hands are zip-tied, something thin and rigid holding his wrists together behind the pipe. Rafael Barba is not young and flexible anymore, he can’t handle this nonsense. He watches as Carisi struggles, trying to bring his body forward in jerking motions to break the ties against the pipe. After a moment he gives up, clamping his eyes shut tight.

“No luck, can’t get enough momentum going,” he murmurs, gritting his teeth. “Sergeant Benson was expecting us. She’ll know something’s up if we’re both gone.”

“So hopefully they don’t kill us and leave our bodies for her to find,” he says sardonically, deflating at Carisi’s Look. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not good at these tense situations.” 

“Says the lawyer,” Carisi mutters, peering around. As he studies their prison he continues to work his hands, trying to somehow loosen his bonds. “Listen, whatever they do, whatever they ask for, don’t try to be a hero okay? Just go along with what they tell you until we can come up with some sort of plan to get out of here. No use in pissing them off when we don’t know why they want us.”

Barba nods, tight-lipped. He tries not to think of all of the people he’s pissed off in his career, of all of their friends, relatives and employees that might be looking for revenge. “I can do that. Believe me, I can do that.” He’s an assistant district attorney, not a superhero.

They’re both silent for a long moment, immediately going on edge as they hear footsteps approaching from behind them. A few pairs of feet falling out of unison, some circling behind them as some step into their view.

“Mr. Barba,” a man says, accent a thick, Long Island snarl. “Nice of you to join us.”

Barba wants to say something sarcastic, wants to point out that he feels like he’s in a shitty gangster film and that he doesn’t even get the comfort of leaving it a bad review on Netflix. Instead he remembers Carisi’s advice, staying silent.

“I’m sure you boys wonder why you’re here,” the man continues, pacing back and forth in front of him.

“No we don’t,” Carisi says, glaring at him from under his eyelashes. “Gio Rossi. We just put your brother away for a whole list of shit. I’m figuring it’s got something to do with that.”

“Smart boy,” Rossi snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Smart mouth. We’ll see how clever you are soon enough.”

“What do you want?” Barba asks, narrowing his eyes. “Carmine is already locked up, the case is over and sentencing is finished. There’s nothing we can do for you, your brother dug his own grave.”

“Oh, I don’t need anything from you,” Rossi laughs, smoothing down his impeccably crisp white button-up. “You’ve done plenty, don’t you think? This is all about letting you know what happens when you come for my family.”

“So you’re going to what, beat the shit out of us?” Carisi snorts. He’s not doing the best job of listening to his own advice, Barba can see his body is a line of tension from his head to his feet. He tries to think quick, to use his skills honed from years of courtrooms to think of a way to signal for Carisi to shut. Up. He even debates using the crush he knows Carisi has had on him for a while, playing to his emotions to keep him from being such a damn hot head. But nothing comes to mind, he’s numb and useless.

“Of course we’re going to beat the shit out of you. Then we’re going to kill you and dump your bodies for the rest of your cop friends to find,” Rossi snorts.

That seems to shut Carisi up.

“Thought you might like that,” Rossi grinned. “Boys, grab the lawyer.”

Barba’s heart starts hammering in his chest. Two large looking men that vaguely resemble brick walls approaching him, one sliding a pocket knife out of his coat pocket. Barba is getting ready to panic and start fighting when Carisi speaks, voice smooth and clear.

“You better take care of me first,” he warns, sounding a lot more confident than he has any right to feel. “Cause if I get out of here I’m going to send you to save a place for me in hell.”

Rossi laughs, eyes wide. “You got balls, kid. Sure thing, I don’t give a shit which of you two goes first. Boys, get the mouthy one.”

Seeing the two brick-wall monsters grabbing Carisi and cutting his hands free loosens Barba’s tongue. “You do realize they’ll have no trouble finding you, right?” he shouts, voice cracking. “You killing us will point a giant, glowing sign right to you. Enjoy your freedom now because once they track you down you’ll spend the last days of your life getting torn apart for being a cop killer!” 

They ignore him, throwing Carisi into the chair. One stands behind him, holding his head still and facing him forwards, while the other cracks his knuckles menacingly. 

“You better kill me fast,” Carisi snarls. “I don’t wanna be in your shoes if my team catches up to you before you do.”

The first hit turns Barba’s stomach. It sounds like someone punching a slab of wet meat, and he can practically feel the burn on his own face. Carisi’s head jerks to the side, hair falling out of it’s carefully-gelled style with the force of it. “That all you got?” he laughs, a little wild-eyed as he looks back up at his assailant. “You’re going to have to hit a little harder than that for me to feel it, I’m a middle child.”

The monster obliges, drawing back a fist roughly the size of a small microwave and once more connecting with Carisi’s jaw. This time Carisi groans, reeling a bit from the blow. A small line of blood trickles from a split in his lip, following the curve of his chin. Barba feels like he’s going to be sick. For all his tough talk and attitude he loathes violence, especially against someone who goes out of his way to never hurt anyone or anything.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Carisi chokes. He opens his mouth, but before he can make another comment he’s delivered a swift backhand right across his mouth. This time he grunts, head hanging for a moment. “...fuck.”

“You got quite a mouth on you,” Rossi muses, arms folded as he watches the proceedings. He doesn’t so much as flinch with each blow; he continues to watch with a businesslike interest, foot tapping and eyebrows raised. “We’ll see how much you have to say when Tony is done with you.”

Barba closes his eyes tight, trying to block out the sounds of blow after blow raining down on the detective. This is fucked, it’s all so terribly fucked. If Carisi hadn’t run his mouth he’d be in that chair right now, instead of watching a genuinely decent person abused and unable to defend himself. “Listen, he’s just a fucking detective, he does what he’s told!” he can’t help but shout, surprised to find tears in his eyes. “If you want to get back at someone you get back at me, I’m the one that put your brother away!”

“Oh don’t worry, we’ll get to you too,” Rossi assures him. “The convenient thing about underlings is that it sends a message home. It’s good to go after the one who seemingly had no say except what he was told to do.”

“You’re fucked,” Barba seethes, eyes flashing.

“I’ve been told,” Rossi nods. “Boys, finish up with him, we have somewhere to be at eleven.”

One of the thugs pulls out a knife, and Barba is fairly sure he’s going to vomit. This isn’t just an execution, they’re making a statement; this has to be messy and violent.

“Listen, I’ll pay,” Barba begs. “However much you want. Just let him go.”

His pleading falls on deaf ears. The second goon, still standing behind Carisi and making sure he stays in place for his punishment, grabs him roughly by the hair and jerks his head back. It’s a show, it’s all for show. They want this to be grand, they want Barba to watch him die so he suffers terribly before they finish him off as well. They want him to watch Carisi bleed and know it’s all _his fault._

“Please,” he whispers, voice barely audible over his own terror.

The first thug, the one with Carisi’s blood still on his knuckles, stabs the knife right into the detective’s chest. Carisi, eyes wide and lips parted in shock, stairs at the ceiling as times slows around them. 

“NYPD! Drop your weapons and get on the ground!”

*  
It doesn't take long for Barba to escape his hospital bed. He is blessedly free of any open wounds, some stiff shoulders and a nasty lump on the back of his head the only things he has to show for his adventure. All it takes to get the IV out of his arm is a few nasty looks and then he's free. 

His first order of business is to find Carisi. 

He's still buttoning his shirt as he walks down the hallway, eyes sweeping back and forth for some sort of employee or map to get him to emergency care. He finally wrangles and orderly into giving him directions, practically running to the elevators and punching the button for the first floor. When the doors open he darts out, running right into Amaro.

“Where is he?” Barba asks immediately, ignoring the way his head is swimming. The dull ache at the base of his skull is throbbing, too much movement exacerbating his current state.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Amaro says, pulling his phone out to shoot a quick text to Olivia. “He’s fine. You’d be surprised at just how much Finn knows about dealing with a pneumothorax at a crime scene. They got him back in plenty of time to patch him up with minimal long term damage. Are _you_ okay?” He slips his phone back into the pocket of his crisp gray slacks, giving Barba a once over.

“I’m fine,” Barba says dismissively, brushing the question away with a sweep of his hand. “They never got to me, Carisi took the bullet first.” He decides not the mention that he was _going_ to be the first victim, if Carisi hadn’t antagonized Rossi into directing his ire at him. “Is he going to need surgery?”

Amaro shakes his head, arms folded. “Nah, said he should patch up just fine without it. He’ll be on oxygen for a few days, bed rest for two weeks, and desk detail until the doctor clears him for field work again. Month or two and he’ll be good as new.” Amaro lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You two got real lucky, that times out just right.”

Barba manages to refrain from pointing out that a knife to the chest isn’t exactly lucky. Rolling his aching shoulders, he considers the timeline. Such a short recovery for a chest wound _is_ extremely lucky, if anything about this situation can be called lucky. “Is he awake?”

“He’s asking about you,” Amaro says with a nod. “Even with a hole in his lung that kid can’t stop worrying about everyone else. Go in, he’ll be glad to see you’re okay.”

Barba shoots Amaro a grateful look, giving his shoulders another roll before smoothing his shirt out and heading into the hospital room.

His heart gives an unexpected twinge at the sight of Carisi laid out on the clean white sheets, skin almost as pale as the bedding. The customary plastic tag is wrapped around his wrist, an oxygen monitor glowing a bright red where it’s clipped on to his finger. He looks too still. Too out of place in this sterile room full of beeping machines and whirring mechanics. Barba wants to rush over, to shake him awake and yank the IV out of his arm so he looks like his usual self. 

God damnit, Carisi.

Olivia looks up from the chair next to the bed, raising an eyebrow. She’s got a book perched in her lap and her glasses pushed up in her hair. She hasn’t been getting much reading done. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies wearily. Comforted by her mere presence, he let’s go of the tension in his shoulders and back, letting all of his worry out in a long, weary sigh. He wants to tell her everything, how scared he was, how scared he still is to see Carisi silent and still in the hospital bed. He wants to own up to the pathetic way his heart skips a beat every time he sees the younger man.


	3. Good Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested, "Hannibal treats Will to breakfast in bed after his first solo hunt."  
> Rating: Teen I guess? Allusions to murder? idk man I don't know how to rate anything under Explicit.

The sun that streams in through the window holds the first promise of fall; it’s golden, hazy and thick as it swirls across the blanket. Will yawns and stretches out to his full length. After a night of adrenaline and power he feels drained, like he might spend the day curled up under the covers and sleeping off the hangover he’s been left with after his first kill.

There is movement outside of the bedroom door, followed quickly by the mouthwatering smell of breakfast. Hannibal carefully pushes into the room and shuts the door behind him with a careful turn of his hip. He looks as put together as always; black slacks, a deep navy sweater. In his hands he holds a tray overflowing with food.

Resting it on the bed next to Will, he pours out a cup of black coffee and passes it to his lover. “And how are you feeling?” he asks, tone light and eyes sparkling.

Will sips from the steaming mug, the immediate relief of the bitter liquid washing over him. “Good. Tired, but fine. You’re in a good mood…”

“Of course I am,” Hannibal says with a smile, untying his apron and lying it over a chair before sliding into bed next to Will. “You had a successful night, you returned to me safe and whole. Am I not allowed my pride?”

“Pride?” Will asks, amused.

“Pride,” Hannibal confirms. “In you. In myself, for my choice in a partner. We’ve done well, both of us.”

Will hums, taking a sip instead of responding. He knows he’s supposed to play the morality card, but he does feel pretty damn good. “You made me breakfast.”

“I always make you breakfast,” Hannibal points out fondly. “I simply rarely allow food in bed. I believe today can be an exception.”

He plucks up a strawberry from the tray, holding it out between clever fingers. Will leans in, closing his teeth around the ripe, ruby red flesh. It’s tart, sweet and juicy and bright. He makes a satisfied noise, swallowing.

“Stay in bed with me today?”

Hannibal leans in, pressing their mouths together. Just before he pulls away he licks the taste of the berry from Will’s lips. “Anything you desire. Today we celebrate however you want. Tonight though? Tonight I cook for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://that-vicious-vixen.tumblr.com) and request one of your own!


	4. Filthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My gf requested straight up Barisi smut. God bless her.  
> Rating: explicit. Oh God so explicit.

Rafael watches with dark eyes as Sonny opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out as far as it can go. He’s been waiting like this for about a minute now, eager and expectant and so goddamn good. Rafael strokes himself lazily, considering the position. The detective’s jaw has got to be aching by now, but it’s clear he doesn’t mind. His thin body is flushed pink and glowing with sweat, his own cock hard and red where it juts angrily between his thighs.

A bead of precum wells at the tip of Rafael’s dick. It drips down, catching the side of Sonny’s eager tongue before sliding down his chin. Sonny jerks like he’s been shot, moaning and reaching down to squeeze the base of his own erection.

“Come on, fucking do it,” he begs, blue eyes glassy. “You know you wanna shoot on my face, mess me up counselor, fuckin’ ruin me…”

It’s certainly a pretty request.

Rafael slides his fingers through soft hair, damp with sweat and curling at the ends, gripping tight and jerking back. He takes his cock in hand, pumping firmly as words spill from his lips of their own volition.

“Look how hungry you are for it,” he practically sneers, smirking as Sonny whimpers and arches his back. “You want me to come on your pretty face? Make you lick my fingers clean?”

“Please,” Sonny begs, voice strained. “Please Rafi…”

Rafael Barba is a good man, but he’s no saint. Hearing Sonny beg, the idea of using him…it’s a nice one. He gasps, giving a few firm thrusts into his own before coming.

Sticky white ropes of come land on Sonny’s face, the first across his left cheek bone, the second over his lips and chin and expectant tongue. The whole while he moans and pants and fucking whines, like he’s lost his mind he’s so turned on. When the last lazy drop falls from Rafael’s cock he gasps, sitting back on his feet.

The hand that had been holding off his own climax is now jerking him off quick and hard. His eyes are glazed as he swallows what ended up on his tongue. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Rafael gasps, dropping to his knees. “You’re a fucking mess.” He jerks Sonny closer by his bony shoulder, biting hard into his bottom lip. “Absolutely filthy.”

Sonny gasps, eyes rolling up. “Yeah, fuck yeah, so fucking dirty, g-gonna, gonna come…”

“Do it,” Rafael purrs. He leans in, lazily licking a bit of his own come from Sonny’s cheek. “Show me how much you like being my filthy boy.”

The sound Sonny makes is almost animal, high and broken and completely ruined. Head falling back, he thrusts his hips up once, twice, and comes into his hand.

Soon they’re sprawled out on the floor, flushed and spent and catching their breath.

“Mm, c’mere, need a kiss,” Sonny hums, grabbing at Rafael in an attempt to pull him closer.

Rafael simply laughs, pushing him away. “Not until you clean your damn face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://that-vicious-vixen.tumblr.com) and request one of your own!


	5. The Seconds In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: ChillyWilly, Will regrets his plan to lure out Dolarhyde using Chilton and tries to save him but is too late  
> Rating: General

He’s never run so fast in his life. He can feel his lungs screaming in his chest, can feel a stitch in his side that screams in agony as his feet pound against the pavement. Everything is narrowed down to this one point in time, a singular thought that shrieks through him as he charges through the city by foot.

Save him.

He doesn’t know what demon possessed him, what obsession to be in control had taken over and made this seem like a good idea. On paper it all worked out. But when does anything ever go as planned in real life?

And now the only person he’s ever really cared about is in danger that even he can’t fathom.

What have you done?

The road up to the Lecter home is ingrained in him by now. In no time he’s got his gun drawn, switching from a frantic, pounding run to a lighter step as he slowly circles the perimeter. The lights are off. He knows that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but the darkness filling the house fills him with a dread he’s never before felt. 

Fear. Cold blind terror. He is helpless.

Gun still out, Will take a breath as he walks up and puts his hand on the doorknob.

In his pocket, his phone rings. He whips it out, voice a breathless whisper as he answer. 

“Jack? What is it?”

There’s silence before Jack’s solemn baritone responds. “I think you better get to the hospital. We’ve got Chilton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://that-vicious-vixen.tumblr.com) and request one of your own!


	6. Make It Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Barisi drabble on the drive home after Sonny's grand jury testimony in the last episode.  
> Rating: Teen for language maybe?

The atmosphere in the car is frigid. From the moment Sonny said the word “hindsight” a sick sort of anxiety has been bubbling in his stomach, to the point now where he feels like he might be sick. Rafael hasn’t said a word since they left the courthouse, face unreadable and body language tense.

Sonny swallows hard before speaking. “Are you hungry at all? Want me to pull through somewhere?”

Rafael simply shakes his head without a word.

Sonny knows he should leave it. With time and distance from the trial everything will calm down, Rafi will still be mad but they’ll be able to have a reasonable discussion where Sonny can grovel at his feet. He’s always been bad at letting things go, though. He may play the happy-go-lucky one at work, but his anxiety is always one tense conversation away from throwing him into a panic attack.

So he does what he always does. He talks.

“Look, Raf, I’m sorry. I know everything has been a total shit show, and I know Sarge is pissed and everyone is breathing down your neck, and I know I didn’t help.”

“Let it go, Sonny,” Rafael says, voice way too calm for what they’ve been through. 

And that’s it, that’s all it takes. Suddenly his chest is tight and his eyes are watering and he feels like no matter what he can’t get enough breath in his lungs. Rafael is saying something but the sound isn’t reaching his ears. His partner reaches over, jerking the wheel to guide them into a parking garage. They manage to get safely into a spot before Sonny is clawing to get out of his seatbelt and flinging himself out of the car.

The garage is bigger, but not exactly fresh air. He gets on his knees, still clutching his chest, and tries to breath. Everything is spinning, fuck if he can get his feet underneath him to stand back up, not with the world tilting on its axis.

He fucked up. He fucked up so bad. He thinks he might be saying it out loud, but all he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears and his own gasping breath.

A hand rests on his head, tentative and then much more firm as it stroke soothingly down to rub at his back. Out of nowhere Rafael is kneeling behind him. Sonny wants to push him away - the ground is filthy and Rafi’s pants are too damn expensive - but it feels way too good having a warm, strong body behind him as he gasps and chokes and tries to ignore the fact that he’s crying.

It passes after about five minutes. It always does, but of course he can’t remember that when it’s happening.

His body feels week and stupid as he leans back into Rafael, letting his head fall back to his shoulder. “Sorry,” he manages to choke, lips tingling and head still spinning a bit. “You’re the one with all this shit on your shoulders, I got no right.”

“You know that’s not how it works,” Rafael says wearily, his arms tight around Sonny’s waist. “I think you need to see someone about these panic attacks, Sonny. And I think we need to have a serious conversation about everything that’s going on. But you know that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, right? Things aren’t always going to be good, we’re not always going to be happy. But that doesn’t mean we love each other any less. It means we just have to work together to figure things out.”

Sonny nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah, no, I know. I get it.”

Rafael presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, patting his thigh. “Come on, I’ll drive home. We’ll eat ice cream and talk shit out.”

Sonny nods, managing to stand. He doesn’t imagine things are going to get any easier over the next few days, but he figures they’ll make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://that-vicious-vixen.tumblr.com) and request one of your own!


	7. The Strong, Sensitive, Murdering Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> witdiseased requested: Imagine one of your OTP calling the other the “strong, sensitive, murdering type”, ChillyWilly  
> Rating: general

Frederick winces as he gets a good look at Will’s hands, taking them in his own and pulling them close. “If you look like this, I can’t imagine what he must look like.” The apex of his knuckles is raw and bloody, livid bruises already forming along tan skin. He’d put money down that the left hand is broken by how swollen it looks. “Does Jack have him?”

Will is silent a moment before he answers. “No one has him. He’s dead.” His voice is flat, devoid of any sort of emotion or guilt. He stares fixedly at the center of Frederick’s chest, refusing to meet his eyes.

Frederick is proud of the way he doesn’t panic. Damn impressed, actually. His heart speeds up a fraction, but he must not show it because Will manages to relax after a few breaths. 

It’s slow and then all-too-fast, like watching a tower implode. First the man before him is too stiff, too proud. Then all at once his cracks show and he’s crumbling into Frederick and shaking from head to toe. “Fuck, I killed him, he hurt my dog and I fucking killed him.”

Frederick swallows hard, sliding his palms along Will’s back. He very strongly resists the urge to think of how pleased Hannibal Lecter will be over this revelation. “I never took you for the strong, sensitive, murdering type,” he manages to joke, regretting it immediately when Will shudders in his arms. “Will. He hurt the dog, I’m sure he would have hurt you as well. It was easily self defence. Proactive self defense.”

A part of him almost believes it.

Managing to maintain his calm, he tilts Will’s face up with a finger under his chin and kisses him softly. “Come on, let’s clean you up and get you into bed. We’ll worry about the implications of this in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://that-vicious-vixen.tumblr.com) and request one of your own!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Someone neeeeeeeeds to write something based on the sexual tension between Barba and Carisi in the grand jury during this week's ep (17x05 "Community Policing"). Carisi getting defensive about the shooting and Barba getting snarky towards him and their little LOOKS at each other....I die. Someone must put a followup scene into words. At home, perhaps? Or in Barba's office? With the door locked? ;)

The door slams behind Barba, making Sonny jump like he’s heard a gunshot. An immediate deep freeze settles between them.

“Hindsight, huh?” Barba practically growls from behind.

Sonny doesn’t turn, doesn’t care to see the ice cold look on his face. He’s mentally drained. This whole thing has been a shit show of friends turning of friends and colleagues turning on colleagues, he’s sick of all the emotion and all of the hurt feelings.

“Yeah, hindsight,” he replies. His accent is thick with emotion. “What more do you want? I’ve told the truth that I know, you can take it or leave it.”

“An innocent man is dead, and you and Benson committed a search that was tenuously legal at best-”

“I was following orders!”

“Oh yeah? Is that the kind of person you are?” Barba snapped back. “Anything for the rank above?”

Carisi finally turned, eyes flashing. In two seconds he closed the distance between them, crowding Barba against his desk. “Yeah? You want me to think for myself then? Do what I want?”

Barba narrowed his eyes, cheeks pink. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making a judgement call,” Sonny sneered. He leaned in, crushing their lips together without warning. It took no time for Barba to respond, their lips becoming a messy, violent tangle of lips and teeth and tongues as they pushed and pressed against each other.

Carisi pulled away, panting. “I’m going to jerk you off. Yes or no.”

“What?”

“Yes or no,” he snapped. “If you don’t want it tell me know and I’ll leave and we’ll never discuss this again.”

Barba has the decency to look stunned, but after a moment he hisses, “Yesssss,” and scrambles for the fly of Sonny’s slacks.

It’s not graceful, and it’s certainly not romantic. Sonny spits into one of his large hands and wraps it around the both of them, thrusting his cock against Barba’s as his fingers squeeze and stroke and tease. Barba is noisier than he anticipated. He let’s out a litany of swears and sighs and hissed Spanish phrases, fingers digging into Sonny’s biceps as their hips rock together.

It’s over all too soon. With a grunt Sonny spills between them, slicking the way. Barba cries out and thrusts into the sudden wetness a few more times before he’s coming himself, sighing Sonny’s (first) name into a bitten kiss.

It takes them a moment to clean up, but soon their straightened back out and staring each other down.

Rafael raises an eyebrow. “I like you better when you’re thinking for yourself.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet witdiseased requested H/C with a beat up Sonny!

“Sonny, look at me.”

Rafael’s voice was a command, but so much softer than he usually spoke when it came to Sonny. Any other day it might have made him think, but he was so damn tired and sore that he was pretty sure it was just the adrenaline thinking for him. 

The hospital bed was soft, the sheets white and crisp and clean. He felt like he could blend into them and disappear. Instead he slowly opened his eyes and forced himself to meet the counselor’s.

“Barba?” he rasped. “Didn’t expect you to be my first visitor.”

Rafael swallowed hard, eyes flicking from Sonny’s face to the bandages wrapped around his naked torso. He looked back up, shuddering. “You’re an idiot.”

Sonny sighed, closing his eyes again. “Thanks for the words of comfort.”

“He shot you, you could have died,” Rafael hissed, voice choked with emotion. “What the hell were you doing jumping in front of a crazy person with a gun?”

His head was spinning. He was too exhausted for this conversation, those six units of blood he got were still settling into their new home and acclimating to making everything work. His mind was fuzzy. “It was me or you, and I’m trained to take a bullet.”

With his eyes closed he couldn’t see Rafael move, could only hear him step closer, feel the dip in the bed. Suddenly there were warm lips pressed against his own, soft and sweet and scared.

He opened his eyes, confusion etched into his features. “Counselor?”

“You could have died,” Rafael repeated, clearly terrified. 

Sonny reached over, taking Rafael’s hand in his own. His heart was racing, but it felt good. Reminded him that he’d lived. “I didn’t though, right? It’s okay. I’m here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: maybe some zachwen? After the events if the park, Zach has to go back to the mainland to finish school, but as an omega he still pines for his mate on the island, skype and phone calls are never enough, so Owen surprises him with a visit?

“It’s really not fair, you know. You get to walk around like normal, and work and go out and hang out with your friends and the raptors, and I get…this.”

Owen smiles fondly at the picture Zach makes on the computer screen. Not that he enjoys his mate’s suffering, of course not, but he looks so god damn cute. He’s bundled up in about three blankets on his dorm room bed, one of the hoodies he nicked from Owen’s closet snuggled around him. His hair is a mess and his cheeks are flushed, and he’s hugging a hot water bottle to his abdomen like it’s his last line of defence against the world. 

“Did you miss your classes today?” Owen asks, taking a sip of his beer. They spend a lot of Zach’s heats on Skype. He can’t physically be there (which fucking sucks) but he can at least give him his time and attention. And, you know. Talk him through taking the edge off of the discomfort. 

Zach sighs, curling up tighter on the bed. He reaches over, tilting the laptop screen so he can see. “Just Chem. Since I knew it was coming my professor let me get some of the homework done ahead of time, he’s cool. I managed to drag myself to my speech class, I didn’t have to present today so I figured I could at least sit through it.”

“I’m proud of you,” Owen cooes, smiling at the scathing look he gets in return. “Hey, I’m serious. I know this is shitty and you feel like hell, and I know it’s hard that I can’t be there. It’s cool that you’re powering through it and doing what you have to do.”

Zach gives a low whine, squirming a bit on the bed. Owen can tell he’s going to need another round with his vibrator soon to keep the edge off, sweat is starting to dampen his temples and his flush is spreading to his chest. “Three more months, right? Then I’m off for the summer and I’ll be with you.”

Owen smiles fondly, heart twinging in his chest. “Three more months. We’ll make it.”

*

Zach shivers, a chill racking through his body and forcing him deeper under the covers. The worst part of heats isn’t the sex, it’s how awful you feel in between. It’s sort of like the flu, this gross, miserable ache that sets in deep in your bones and makes you feel like you’re made of cement and anguish.

He sighs and catches a bit of Owen’s scent in the sweater he’s wrapped up in. Pulling the fabric over his nose and breathing deeply, he closes his eyes and tries not to get choked up. He knew college would be hard, that separating for so long would be lonely, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. He’s sad. He’s lonely. Of course the hormones aren’t helping, trying to convince him that he needs a baby that he’s not physically equipped to have (what the fuck is that? thanks biology) but he feels it even when it’s not that one shitty week a month. You kind of forget how much you love someone until you don’t have them around.

Somehow despite the few times he’s washed the sweater Owen’s scent manages to grow stronger. Strong enough now that his body is starting to react to it, urging him to roll onto his stomach and spread his legs and present himself. He feels fucking crazy, but his dick is perking up quick and the slickness between his legs is the worst it’s been all week.

Someone pounds on the door, and he groans. 

“Don’t need my floor vacuumed today, thanks though,” he calls, hoping the cleaning lady won’t mind.

The knock sounds again, this time followed by a gruff but playful voice; “Zach, come open this damn door before I break it down. You smell real nice right now, kid.’

He nearly has a heart attack. He also nearly breaks his leg in his effort to get to the door and throw it open. Standing there in the entryway is Owen, looking exhausted from travel but as happy and bright as ever. 

“Hey, handsome,” he smiles.

Zach nearly comes in his pants.

“I’m super happy to see you, and I can’t wait to hear why you’re here, but get in here and fuck me before I go insane,” Zach chokes, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and yanking him inside.

Owen is more than happy to oblige.


End file.
